King Simon Riley, head of the Church of England, and ruler of this great land, was a figured mystery. His face was never seen, always concealed beneath a golden skull mask that revealed little of his lips and his piercing hazel eyes.

Upon reaching the age for marriage, his mother had signed a deal with a Duke from Germany, your brother securing your betrothal to the King.

And once the agreement was sealed, the announcement was published in society, sealing your fate too.

The wedding was set to occur on the very week, leaving you little time to prepare mentally and emotionally. Marrying a complete stranger had never been part of your plans, yet you understood the undying duty and accepted the harsh reality.

The first day at the palace was spent getting acquainted with the Princess — mother in law — as well as preparing for the grand ceremony. However, the most important part never came; you never once laid eyes on him.

No one ever dared to speak of the King in anything but general, vague terms. Only the same description was repeated, over and over again: intelligent, polite, mature. Nothing more, nothing less. It was as if he were some strange species, such as a creature so terrible that none wished to warn you of the truth — the mystery began to erode your beliefs, and you found yourself reconsidering the marriage.

And so, moments before the ceremony, you looked desperately for a way to flee, secretly. The Royal Palace’s gardens stretched out, offering an escape. Standing before a high, stone wall, you hesitated, before attempting to climb with careful hands.

“Hello, my lady.” Words came from a deep, rough voice from behind you. The King himself stood there, hands clasped behind his back, gaze set on your struggling figure, “Are you in need of assistance of some kind?” It was almost amusing to him — you were unaware of your own groom watching your attempt to escape.